Today on MythBusters: The Safety Fair

Once a year, whether I think I need it or not, I get an invitation in the mail to attend a safety fair. It comes from the people at my weekend job and usually includes three dollar words like "mandatory" and "you will not be allowed to work if you do not attend." Implied in the letter, though not explicitly stated, is, "This will definitely affect your paycheck."

The first time I was ever invited to a safety fair I was so excited that I had to do a safety fair dance. For the record, it was not at all like the one that Men Without Hats did because I am not a freak in that particular way (p.s. does anyone else find it hugely ironic that a man who CANNOT DANCE AT ALL recorded a song about dancing? And then created videotaped evidence of the fact that he can't dance and put it on MTV? I wonder if they had a line item in their budget for, "Costumes obtained from church basements, previously used for Renaissance Fairs?").

Anyhoo. Fairs bring back such loverly childhood memories for me. We went to the Tulsa State Fair every year, and the minute I walked through the big shiny gate I fell deeply under the spell of the endless rows of special fair food, the likes of which you couldn't get anywhere else (including but not limited to deep fried Snickers bars, deep fried corn on the cob, deep fried curly-Q french fries, and OH DEAR GAWD deep fried funnel cakes--wait, is anyone else seeing a pattern here?). And what about those fabulous rickety rides that were carefully assembled by one-armed blind men who regularly exceeded the allotted number of riders just for the thrill of seeing what could happen? Remember what snappy neck felt like? Thank heavens our bones were good and rubbery back then. And let us not forget the animals. From the gigantic, uncastrated bulls (hey, it's not like I was looking, but how else was a young girl supposed to learn about these things?) to the tiniest of baby micelings, the animals were always the last, and quite possibly the best, stop in a day packed chock full of goodness (and now let us collectively and silently agree not to talk about what happens to the animals after the fair ends. Amen.).

So maybe now you can understand why, after I got my specifically-addressed-to-me invitation to the safety fair, I thought only good things were in store for me. I was ready for clowns, crazy scary rides, and deep fried popcorn. But guess what I got instead? TESTS, that's what. FORMS TO FILL OUT. A CHEST X-RAY, thank you very much. None of these things fall under the category of "Fun" or, for that matter, "Fair." A safety fair, as it turns out, is a whole lotta work. So, in the interest of public education, I thought I would share with you a few of my insights regarding the matter so that you don't get skunked into attending one:

1. There are no deep fried foods at safety fairs. In fact, there is no food at all except that which you can pry out of the vending machine's cold, dead hands, the same vending machine that DOESN'T TAKE DOLLARS.

2. The only animal you can expect to see is the squirrel you almost ran over in the parking lot. And it looked rabid.

3. Don't expect anything in the form of entertainment, unless you count the people who laugh at you while you're demonstrating your ability to seamlessly transfer a patient from a bed to a wheelchair without droppi--oops. Hey, you okay down there? (On the up side, this counts as a ride for the poor chump who volunteered to be transferred.)

4. There is a bald man.

Here's how it really goes at safety fairs. First, you get a very large document that is full of questions in different fonts and formats. You are supposed to put your name on the top of each page, but as that is boring, you don't. You will pay for this later.

Next, you have to find the safety fair. There is no one to help you. Were it a real fair, you could follow the smell of fried grease. As there are no clues such as this to light the way, you simply listen for the screams of frustration and go there. Once you locate the place, you quickly observe that a large number of science fair-type display boards have been set up, each one covering a different topic. Good, you think, this will be easy cheesy. Somewhere in the distance you hear the sound of laughter.

Opening your gigantic packet, you see something titled "Infection Control." Okey doke, you look around to find the matching display board, ready with pen in hand to find your answers in record time. Check me out, you think, I'm going to be the fastest paper filler outer this safety fair has ever seen. Unfortunately, there is no board titled Infection Control. Hmm. Okay, then, on to page two, "Standard Precautions." You're pretty sure you can fill this one out without a nancy board--after all, you did work for a research project on infectious diseases for five years, so how hard could it be?

That question was rhetorical, and so we shall not dwell upon it. Suffice it to say that later, when that page is graded, you will be looked upon with sadness and just a hint of disdain, as if there has never been anyone as stupid as you.

Now let's fast forward an hour and a half in time. You've filled out all the multiple choice questions and managed to find where the MSDS is kept--and what it is. You've become stuck, however, on this question: "What is a symptom of latex gloves?" There is no possible answer to this question. A latex glove doesn't have symptoms; it has four fingers and a thumb, but no symptoms to speak of. It just isn't possible. Finally, you sneak a glance at the smartypants person next to you, and notice that she wrote, "Rash." Oh. Rewrite question in head to, "What is a symptom of latex allergy?" Geesh. After spending another 10 minutes trying to find what JCAHO stands for, you finally give up and start looking for someone in authority to ask. Enough, already.

And that--THAT--is when you are led to the bald man.

The bald man sits in a corner looking as innocuous as could possibly be. He wears no badge, nor does he draw attention to himself by holding a pen or clipboard. He...just...sits. And waits. Because, as it turns out, the bald man is more than willing to fill out any part of the test that you can't. He's got the answers memorized, and he is not one bit stingy with them. AND WOULDN'T THIS HAVE BEEN NICE TO KNOW AN HOUR AND A HALF AGO.

So two days later you finally get to leave the safety fair, which was no fair at all but actually a horrifying purgatory that ultimately belched you out into the parking lot with nothing more than permission to work yet another day. Pah. Give me bull balls any day.